WINCETrees sway, occupied with their own thoughts. Our heads used to be full of fox and deer. A man with a misshapen heart sits in the dark. It’s how we do things. In China they eat dogs.

BLACK SPRINGNobody wants to hear about

my false feelingsof well being,

or the womanwho was next

to me in linebut not with me,

or trees bobbing to the surface

holding hands. Any explanation

abbreviates, anyway.

It’s only days til spring,

and leavingthe police

station,I noticed

for the first timethe moon’s

vacant stare, its black front

tooth.

Author's Commentary

I see my poetry as experimental because it subverts traditional narrative expectations. My poems seem to have scenes, characters, and plot, but the relationship among these traditional components of narrative is frequently frayed and strange. The poems proceed not by linear logic, but the fractured logic of dreams, especially bad dreams. I am less interested in telling what happened than in how what happened felt. It’s for this purpose that I try to craft images that are concrete, elusive, accessible, and mysterious all at once. Images are maps to areas of thought and feeling untraceable by other means.

About Howie

Howie Good is the author of the full-length poetry collections Lovesick (Press Americana, 2009), Heart With a Dirty Windshield (BeWrite Books, 2010), and Everything Reminds Me of Me (Desperanto, 2011), as well as 25 previous print and digital poetry chapbooks.

4 Prose Poems by Caroline Lavers

Cold

Cold hearted nature, cold fingers cold hatred has taken this away all again. My feelings for you have turned cold again. My feelings for blue has burned red incense in my senses again.Frightened am I by your memories of descent, frightened to try be kind again.

Cold fragile emotion again. Cold, cold, cold.Finger nails that cant bleed blood that’s decreased in time again. Cold time has lost its essence again.Cold, cold I am cold forget me again thought’s that have no love no light but the cold empty fright of this girl, this nobody this my nothing.

I can’t feel this anymore, I don’t feel this anymore,I forget that feeling anymore.Cold am I cold stricken my soul has found the cold in you demons again, cold. My blue veins have emptied your hope for my future again. Cold my hope for you for a future are dead. Cold, cold my future has deadened in you present I don’t know anything. My present is cold my past is cold my future is empty and lost without you. You… cold… The blue sky has whispered her senses drifting me to your cold again and away. Strength is dead I am cold lost in your corpse, I am dead to your heart, cold your love is dead to the sky, cold my thoughts are gone I am not here.

Caroline on "Cold"

I wrote this above poem when a great loss in my life occurred, I felt something else writing through me this day, the emotions in me were so strong, to release the intensity of it I broke a massive wall mirror after writing this, and felt a huge healing shift through and transform in me.

Feel This

My rights to the heart, that full minded, full bodied beaten blown to its righteousness re awoken all my senses my every cell that begins with my being alive again. One phone call is like heroin all over, one whisper that I’m still your baby drives all hopes to levels that don’t exist, this, what I began to feel as my blood pulsated to the sound of your voice.

Shout me back to your denial of a life, I’m surely ready to once again take you into nurture. My still heart that is still, it belongs only to your soul, still. Gracious being of light my force intensified, forces still open the gates that flood my grief all for you. This time that has no limits has broken its wings to find you again.

My lights divinity has re opened her eyes to your shadow that dwells in the deepest avenue of dark. I’m ready again I shout to be yours but this time with her gentle tongue that twists to be spoken in truth yours forever. Raise again my hope’s die to your eternal bliss. With this I become one more lingering shiver and let go all the abuse that was painfully imprinted in our skin and scream this was worth it. To know the dark with your light and our love finally comes home and awakes to its life, we can know what it is to feel still in the numb state without the hate.

Confess our journeys and be final at last. Complete our awakenings and the rest of our secrets that will unwind down the spiral of the distant lost patterns that reveal its light to its relevant blessed lessons.

All new the sure excitement of what comes next is all hidden messages that bloom out light the babies that create our truths in us our dreams, in us, you and me.

Caroline on "Feel This"

This piece is about the same person I had lost as I described in the previous poem, in the light of what I felt...

Art by Caroline Lavers

Closed Caring

The dry distant times that flies past semi conscious with these overwhelming sensations, my body and mind that drifts with it. My soul fully awoken with these vibrant intense lights that lingers and overrides in me, All of this gets further more deep as the passion cuts the holes that have been hurting beating and deeply un scaring my insides. Over the top I hesitate with drastically shaken woven intertwined nerves that wont break the hidden tension, beneath the strength I cry passing time when I cant see that stained poor person that used to sit humbly inside my head, I forget to talk to her. Again I float again I drift my soul further closer, further apart, under riding my true fear I cant hear those silent screams that become too soft to notice, I hate to not feel her true pain that secretly eats multiplying my head space and slowly decays. Internally I rush to the floor where my head sits between my knees again, I ask the secret questions to my hidden fears, what do you seek me to answer, see this time, how can I breathe with you always sticking close to my shivering bones, all I slowly uncovered and start to brutally scream, don’t touch me unless your willing to listen. So hope for an answer to heal my being. In return the messages unfold gently once again and clearly to me. Stop pushing for your dreams go with me and unleash your true face awaken our soft gentle unburdened grace.

I Am here right now so listen to me clearly open your heart, take your mind to that peacefully, holiday, that we always used to go when every one stopped hearing us, when everyone was hurting us. And begin again,start your baby steps walk with your soul, openly consider everything around you and don’t forget to leave the fight the anger the pain, right far behind.

Caroline on "Closed Caring"

My father had passed away in 2004 and every now and then I would sense him trying to say something through my writing, this is one of the pieces I wrote where I felt his presence in me very strongly.

Sir Timing

Time that hides itself, open to its source open to its core ticking delights, the unknown messages of the fast of the speed of the slow breeze, drawn to its fascinating links understanding it higher and it lower with the speeding race. The game of life has out done itself and it is soon ready to flourish and unleash the turmoil the torn tangled forgotten truth. Its pure beauty that the eyes have all been lied to, it’s nearly time to awaken all uncover the blind hearts that see only that which isn’t real to uncover its fragile truth over and over again, and be the present to be put in its space, instilled in us all.

Caroline on "Sir Timing"

This piece was written from a point of frustration, there will come a place in all of us where the walls built around us by the illusion of time will be set down, not to take respect away from time, but we must recognize the illusion to how we based our existence on it, rather than abuse it or allow it to abuse us we must be present with it.

Author's Commentary

About the experimental style of my writing:

‘Style’ seems to be a confinement in itself. Having read much, and by many notable writers, I appreciate this concept actually exists. My words are without an intent to lead and I apply no constraints, neither grammatical nor through correctness of what may appear to be spelling errors. The paths that present in the translation are neither singular nor obvious, but each will be true to the interpretation of the individual reader.

I can see them all and feel for each separately that has been gracefully conjured via a magical feed through my being and onto the paper. I breathe the feeling and intensity out in words until the feel of a sentence has exhausted its needed say. It’s hard to define a particular style in my writing or place it. The experimental side has its own identity, when I say identity I mean body of work that enhances itself where the words meet their own existence and emphasize their life through the plane of emotion.

Still in the quiet in the mist of 5.09am, the early waking morning, in that illusion we build around us called time, where there has been a deep feeling expansion that brought me newfound openness and awareness to the bitterness and understanding of a cruel world. There is a natural urge in me to share with those who would be open and willing to listen. Some may have felt similar things but felt too isolated and entrapped with a sense of not knowing how to express it or let it flow through them, where that would help the energy shift.

I speak from my inner deep felt experiences. I was guided to open myself up to the traumas that life presented to me and unlocked the door in myself to take a closer look at the layer’s and wall’s that I built around my pain rather than protecting it with a cloak of denial.

I would acknowledge its existence and its screaming pain to be heard like the beaten child. The more you ignore it the more it will bleed and stain. The seeking need in me was to nurture it with full love and attention to heal the broken, empty hollow gaps that had become filled with fear. Through my experiences and writings from a young age I have captured many strengths, along with harsh, brutal awaking moments in the sour times, that helped the energy or pain body to move or shift to a more evolved and higher purpose, rather than leaving it stagnant and allowing it to decay my soul.

With the style of my writing, many may struggle to grasp it’s meaning at first, but with patience and soul there is a lot of truth and understanding that unravels in itself.

My source of realization came to me at such a young age and was exciting that I was able to tap into strong senses and emotions and describe them in a way that would fully explore many other facets of myself. I started to delve deeper into unexplained phenomena that begun to shift me to higher states of being. I felt the only way to share was through my expressed translucent writing abilities, and record all the feelings and senses strongly into a written form.

I find I offer a lot of contradicting words that express extremes and opposites along with a play on adjectives that almost mismatch the accompanying word. For example ‘ticking delights’. I engage with words to draw emotion and intensity out, and thus enhance the essence behind what I am trying to say. The mis matches are not always by design but translate for me completely appropriately to my sometime’sconfused feelings.

About Caroline Lavers

Caroline Dominique Lavers born sunset, 12th March 1985. One of 5 siblings. Her late father Nigel John Lavers, brought her into this world with intent of opening her life, mind and senses, exposing her to worldly ideas from a young age. She traveled the world with her family, experiencing life and exploring broadly, which left her open and receptive.She attended the creative school Michael Mount Waldorf where she was taught in an ‘alternative’ environment which raises one to think ‘artistically’ out of the box, with initially no pressure on the academic side. All emphasis was on free flowing progress on an individual level. As a result, she only learned to read at age 10, when she changed schools to a more academically inclined institution. This was a major break through for her, as she always had an intense desire to write. Thereafter, her writing channels opened up, with the accounting of her feelings and senses that soon ingrained as a daily ‘ritual’.She had extensive experience through different workshops and courses in drama which helped her connect and communicate with assurance. It was a platform to nurture the introverted shy girl in her, with confidence being brought out through the preferred choices of extreme characters in dramatic roles. Through living other alter egos, her being was allowed to explore other worlds, in an environment that was easily un-noticeable to others.When she was 14 her writing became more intense, and it felt to her as if some other force was almost channeling through her. It was her first glimpse of an ‘enlightenment’ experience. Something activated in her. She developed a ‘light sense’: an awareness which began flowing through her.Shortly before she hit age 15, her light path was halted by a traumatizing event that shook her to her core. Something triggered inside her head and she went into a dark space of psychosis. Crazy events took place, in her irrational mind, that she full heartedly believed were real. From fairies, to light bubbles, to seeing herself and hearing herself on TV and Radio, to scripture-like writing appearing on walls and windows. In the illusion she somehow felt empowered as if she could do anything. It seemed to her as if people were seeking to know of this strange little girl’s abilities. The elation soon mutated into paranoia. Cameras were everywhere cell phones and most electronic devices were tapping into her world!She was eventually diagnosed with paranoia schizophrenia, and after resistance to chemical correction, she was compelled to a series of ECT sessions. Electro shock therapy.She started to come back to reality, and lived a chemically controlled existence, as prescribed by a psychiatrist. At age 19 she enrolled at a film and drama school in Johannesburg AFDA where she graduated with a Bachelor of arts (BA) degree after 3 years. From then, she taught drama, theater, voice, and physical performance at various educational institutions on and off, to date.During the years she attempted a few times to wean herself completely off her medication, in an effort to experience her full feelings devoid of chemical crutches. Currently she is completely free of all medication, and her writings continue to flow with intensity passion.

The Triumph of the Eight Trigrams

The
creative: yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

the
clinging: yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

yinyinyinyin
yinyinyinyin

yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

the dragon: yinyinyinyin
yinyinyinyin

yangyangyangyangyangyangyangyang

yinyinyinyin
yinyinyinyin

The
receptive: yinyinyinyin yinyinyinyin

yinyinyinyin
yinyinyinyin

yinyinyinyin
yinyinyinyin

Author's Commentary

‘The Triumph of the Eight Trigrams’
is a concrete poem composed on the basis of two famous Chinese
characters ‘yin’ and ‘yang’, representing the two opposite
and the most essential forces in nature, which are believed to have
an immutable tendency towards balance, whether it is in the natural
or human world. By building half of the eight trigrams – the most
ancient Chinese folk form used to foretell developments in history -
into a gate of triumph, I hope to convey the idea about the ultimate
victory of the natural forces in the human realm that lead to balance
or harmony.

Swirling Swastika: a Zen Poem

FAMEFAM EM ME OD N I ESMEDITATINGMEDITATIYE T X AS TE IX NPOWERPOW

Author's Commentary

‘Swirling Swastika: a Zen Poem’ is
a logo of the contemporary human society, which is more like a
business company than ever before. In this company, everyone is
striving hard for wealth, fame, power and/or sex. The Buddhist symbol
of swastika stands for peace and harmony, but as its arm of money is
twisted or broken in human practice, it cannot swirl in a balanced
way as it should be able to. That is to say, it is difficult, if not
entirely possible, for company people to enter the realm of Zen even
if they have such a wish.

About Changming Yuan

Changming Yuan, author of Chansons
of a Chinaman (2009) and Politics and Poetics (2009), is a
three-time Pushcart nominee who grew up in an impoverished Chinese
village and published several books before moving to Canada. With PhD
in English, Yuan currently works as a private tutor in Vancouver and
has poetry appearing in Barrow Street, Best Canadian Poetry,
Cortland Review, Exquisite Corpse, London Magazine and nearly 350
other literary journals / anthologies in 15 countries.